Eight 4

All that light, and none of us leveled. But such was life when splitting between so many people. The amounts were even more diluted after the Long Darks when everyone in the village militia received a share. That was why defending the Glen had been so productive over the years—lots of incoming light with fewer defenders.

Still, after absorbing their shares, Haol, Tegen, and Teila—all of whom had turned dawn only a month ago—now reported that Level 6 felt close. And Aslishtei’s nieces said the same thing about Level 4.

“The village prospers,” Tegen whispered.

And Mumu responded, “A truth.”

“The way is long,” Ikfael signed. “We must be patient walkers.”

We were all beat from a full day, but the night wasn’t over yet as we talked through our impressions of the light we’d gathered.

Ikfael, in particular, picked up on the change in Theloc’s alchemy. “His path grew sweeter, but it was no longer his own entirely,” was how she described it.

As for Eswelo, he had apparently lived a charmed life, taking whatever he wanted without consequences until he was caught and put to use by Maltra’s officials. Issa, on the other hand, was born into a soldier family and devoted himself to the sword with a near religious fervor.

“He was more loyal to the sword than the emperor and empress?” I asked.

Mumu waggled her hand. “They wouldn’t ever compete, would they? One was put into meaningful service by the other.”

“And a Sword Supreme like him never met them?” I shook my head in disbelief. “That’s weird to me.”

“My understanding,” Anya said, “is that meeting the emperor or empress is the greatest reward a Maltran can receive. They say that those who’ve distinguished themselves are brought into an amphitheater where they can bask in the presence of one or the other.”

“Have you ever been there?” I asked. “Maltra, I mean.”

“Travel to the Paramount Empire of Conjuncted Maltra was made illegal ten years ago,” Weni said. “And we don’t accept ambassadors from there anymore either—not after our own ambassador was turned against us.”

I squirmed on my blanket, looking for a more comfortable position. “I’d heard about that—he’d met Brother Sun and fell instantly in love, right?”

“That was the story I heard too,” Weni said.

“What exactly did the ambassador do to get into trouble?” I asked. “Do we know?”

Anya shook her head. “Our aunt never said.”

“But there are rumors,” Weni added.

The rest of us leaned in, curious.

The peltwei ran her fingers through the silver feathers at the side of her head. “Now, this is something I heard from the nephew of the Captain of the Fortress. Supposedly, when our ambassador came back from Maltra, he brought with him a lock of Brother Sun’s hair that, if you looked at it, you’d become the ambassador’s thrall.”

“No,” Teila said in disbelief. “That can’t be.”

Anya nodded, half in agreement and half in consideration. “With the right talents, a high enough Charm, and the magic to support them—it might be possible. Maybe not from a lock of hair, but an artifact of some kind? It’s a fascinating problem to take apart.”

“Could it be an extension of the emperor’s influence?” I wondered aloud.

A smile spread at the edges of Anya’s beak. “So shiny.” Then she cleared her throat. “That’s the working hypothesis of those who’ve… heard that particular rumor.”

“And those people would be?” I asked.

“Us and our cousin, Mablena. But she’s a scholar like me and well versed in the literature surrounding… scents and their role in magic…” Anya ran down, realizing that her cousin’s expertise was perhaps not quite relevant to the conversation.

“Was the lock of hair perfumed?” I asked, thinking about my experience of Theloc’s light.

Weni’s surprise showed on her face. “That was Mablena’s thought. Ah, the alchemist!”

I looked toward Ikfael. She would’ve likely had the most experience with influence of any of us, but she had her thinking face on. When she noticed me watching her, she signed, “Nothing definite, but both influence and rituals can be very powerful. We know that; they can fill the gaps left by other magics.”

There were so many tools through which reality could be changed or modified, whether they came from your path, the authority of you’ve gained, the magic you’ve studied, or your talents and soul marks. Somehow it all worked, but I often felt like I was swimming through a massive bowl of gumbo—an organic, chunky soup of forces shaping my life and the lives of everyone else on Diaksha.

“The ambassador—what happened to him?” Teila asked, interrupting my train of thought.

Weni frowned. “This we know for certain because of the resulting scandal—the land soldiers guarding him let him go. Whether the cause was blackmail, bribery, magic, or something else…” She shrugged.

Tegen’s expression was solemn. “It wouldn’t do to underestimate Maltra’s influence.”

“But to win a land soldier’s loyalty away from Ithia is no easy task,” Mumu said. “How did they manage it?

“One thing is clear,” I replied. “The Maltrans’ skill in alchemy is beyond ours. They can probably do things we can’t and put it to more uses, including things like supporting their spells.”

“We must be careful,” Tegen cautioned back, “not to put too much weight on an unsupported stone.”

“A truth,” I replied, “but it’s something to think about. Hopefully, we won’t have to deal with any more of them, at least for the duration of this expedition.”

“When we return to our Voorhei, the matter will likely come up again,” Mumu said. “We should plan on it.”

“We always do,” I said.

###

We paired up for watches, and as usual, it was Ikfael and me when the night was darkest.

Every once in a while, I braved the bad weather to scout the mountainside, and each time, Ikfael whisked away the wet on my return. Then, she’d go back to creating small animal sculptures from water and stone. They’d gotten more and more life-like over the years.

“Do you believe the story about the ambassador to Maltra?” I asked.

“A story heard is not a story seen,” Ikfael responded, pausing in the middle of shaping a stone musk ox. The expression on his face wasn’t quite right.

“Not grumpy enough,” I mentioned.

And she nodded in agreement, tweaking the ox’s eyes. A slight nudge here, a touch there, and he now looked properly pissed off.

“You’re so good at that,” I signed.

“Everything is practice,” Ikfael answered. “Every thought and action is a chance to take a step on the Path to Perfection.”

“It’s not all killing and slaughter, you mean.”

She paused to examine the sculpture before her. Then she said, “The gods need for us to refine our light, as well as the light we absorb from others. But we were not made for eating alone. Otherwise, why give us minds that appreciate beauty? Hearts that love and cry?”

“There’s joy in the world too,” I signed, sharing a lesson learned from my previous life.

“A truth,” Ikfael signed, “although one that’s easily lost.”

“Because this is a world of striving,” I signed.

Ikfael put down the ox to gaze at her paws. “That, and pain is more easily remembered.”

“How—” I hadn’t wanted to intrude, but I had to ask. “How much do you remember?”

The otter glanced at me and then away. Still, she answered, “For a long while, I didn’t. Then came that dream and now I remember all of it.”

“I’m sorry.” The words felt so inadequate; I’d seen how she’d suffered buried under stone. Nothing I said could ever express how angry-terrible-frustrated I’d felt for her.

“I’m not,” Ikfael said, turning to face me with determined eyes. “How I came to do what I did was wrong, but the act itself saved Voorhei. And I outlived those who spoke to me with honeyed words.” She looked at her paws again, but her shoulders were less forlorn this time. “I have power now I never had when I was simply Ikiira. The only thing missing is—”

“Yes?” I prompted.

But she shook her head instead of responding.

“I’m here,” I said. “I told you—I’ll listen to you and won’t go anywhere without you.”

“That was a thing you said, true.” Ikfael sighed and looked out at the rain.

I put a hand on her shoulder. “You don’t believe me?”

She laughed, a soft chirping. “You, I believe. Our Eight doesn’t do things by half measures.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

The expression on Ikfael’s face sank. “I have become the people who I hated most.”

“What?”

Ikfael signed, “They told me, those wise older hunters, that I was talented, that only I deserved to be the lodge’s new master, especially since the village faced deadly crisis. I should’ve realized when they told me the initiation into my position should wait until after the village was safe. The lodge’s inner secrets would wait. And those secrets could wait, because they were never truly meant for me. Never meant for a sacrifice to possess—no matter how valuable I might be.”

“And you’re the one speaking honeyed words now? Is that it?” My signs had been furious, but not at Ikfael. All I could see was the shadow of the deceitful hunters behind her.

“Yes,” Ikfael signed. “But instead of words, I trade in exchanges. In… affection.”

I took a deep breath and blew it out. “I see. And why tell me now?”

“Because I am a fool,” Ikfael signed.

“This expedition—we’re to be your sacrifice? Do you intend me or the others to die in the ruins of Old Baxteiyel?” I asked bluntly.

“No!” Ikfael protested. “The exchange was true—”

“I sense a ‘but’ at the end of that.”

“But,” Ikfael signed, “there will be greater danger than you realize.”

“You know because of your zasha’s divinations?” I asked.

“I do, but I can’t explain the details.”

“A danger greater than Asiik?” I probed.

Ikfael hesitated, but then nodded.

“Oh,” I said softly. And then again, with a bit of a smile: “Oohh.” I couldn’t help myself; I began to chuckle.

Ikfael looked at me like I’d gone mad, but the implications were so cool. The only way we’d be in more danger than facing Asiik was if we somehow got into the pyramid.

I wasn’t stupid; the level of risk would likely be extreme, but there was something about the idea that drew me. Like my whole body wanted whatever was hidden away in there.

“In the morning,” I signed, “we’ll tell Mumu and Anya about this, and they’ll decide whether we continue or not. Other than that, I’ll say that you can count on me.”

“But—” Ikfael signed.

“This time there is no ‘but.’ When I made my own exchange with your zasha, I asked for a way to help you. As near as I can tell, this expedition is connected, and I mean to see it through, Mumu and Anya willing.”

“You cannot ignore me manipulating you,” Ikfael started

“No, that’s a truth, so don’t do it again, okay? People, even friends, make mistakes. I’m trying to learn from mine. If you do the same with yours, then that’ll be enough for me.”

“I will do better,” Ikfael signed.

“Me too,” I responded. “Does this mean that you won’t trust your zasha as much, though? The path she set you on led to this dilemma. Unless this confession was part of the plan to begin with?”

Ikfael reached up to hold my hands; she took both in her paws and looked me in the eyes. Then, she had to let go to sign, “Yes.”

“To which part,” I asked.

“To all the parts,” Ikfael answered.

“And that means?”

“You will be you, and I will be me, and we will each do the best for ourselves and each other.”

“I… all right. I can roll with that.”

“I know you can,” Ikfael signed.

###

The next morning, it was impossible to see the dawn through the dark clouds obscuring the sky. Rain fell, of course, but the winds had gone all anxious again, the tension rising among the spirits to almost unbearable levels. The storm out over the ocean would have to start moving soon, or else the sky would crack open from the stresses. That was what it felt like. The others must’ve sensed it too, because they kept glancing upward as we packed up our camp.

While we worked, I told Mumu and Krenya about the potential for even more danger than we’d anticipated. The response was concern, but also acceptance. The arguments against breaking the exchange with Ikfael were still valid, and if we really would see a chance to enter the pyramid and claim the hierophant’s prize, we’d revisit the decision then.

Which, for the record, I alone believed was possible. Mumu expected the danger to come from additional Maltran interference, while Anya thought it more likely to be some kind of magical trap. That was when Weni reminded us of the hordes of undead, and Tegen posited that we’d perhaps see lethal competition from the other expeditions. Teila’s thought was that the approaching storm was the greatest threat. As for Haol, he kept quiet. To him, we’d find out in due time.

So, yeah, the vectors for danger were plentiful, and yet no one backed out. Ikfael bowed to everyone in apology afterward, but the expedition didn’t know what to do with that. They all looked embarrassed and pleaded with her to stop.

The important thing was that we were ready to proceed again. The saying was that Old Baxteiyel was the place the dawn went to die. We would just have to prove it false.

###

The unrelenting rain turned the ground into a morass. Our boots squelched as we walked, a messy rhythm to accompany the whooshing-dripping-rustling around us. The mud got everywhere, and the wet penetrated our layers to chill the skin.

The latter didn’t bother me as much as the others, though. My meridians still had a tendency to run hot if I spun my qi through them quickly; it was like having a heater on the inside. The trick didn’t work for the others, though, since it related to the lightning aspect of my qi.

The soldiers apparently had a Warming spell, and Weni pledged to learn it when our expedition returned to Albei. “Whatever it takes!” she said. “I refuse to be this miserable ever again.”

I remember thinking at the time that it was lucky she didn’t see Ikfael rolling her eyes. It was an unfair judgement on the otter’s part, especially since she was covered in fur and was doing perfectly fine in the rain, riding atop my pack well above the mud.

The forest ecosystem here was much the same as around Voorhei—a rich mix maple, horotonei, birch, and oak, along with evergreens like hemlock and pine. The mountains rising up directly to the east weren’t so tall that all the varieties of trees didn’t climb their sides.

What was different was that all of spring’s finery seemed beaten down by the rain—the green tips of the needles, the small white and pink flowers, and the unfurling leaves all bore the pressure with great stoicism.

There was also the sheer number of streams and creeks we encountered—half a dozen by the time we broke for lunch. Which was nothing more than salted jerky, but the food was welcome after the morning’s exertions. Even Ikfael seemed happy to gnaw on her share, especially once she’d dipped it into some nutritious sap.

The number of small waterways increased as the day progressed, and we began to catch sight of ponds and small lakes farther to the west. Then, at about three in the afternoon, we came across a river about the same width of the one near Voorhei. It poured down from the mountains east of us before turning south. It was unnamed on our map, but the river was supposed to lead directly to Old Baxteiyel, so we adjusted our route to walk alongside.

All the while, we continued to find evidence of the expeditions that had gone before us—mostly litter, but also a couple of carcasses, including a saber-toothed cat that someone had paused their trek to skin.

Then, about an hour from sunset, the rain stopped. We’d walked in its white-whooshing noise for so long, it was confusing, like the world had suddenly stopped spinning. I’d been keeping a wary eye on the weather report all day, but it hadn’t once mentioned anything about a pause in the rain.

We all stopped to look up, and we watched as the clouds started to roil, the wind up there seemingly going mad. In my mind’s eye, the phone flashed with an update:

* Alert * Alert * Alert *

Warning: Extreme Weather Event Expected

The long-awaited arrival of [ACCESS DENIED] resumes. At all costs, [ACCESS DENIED].

Practically speaking, a hurricane will make landfall along the coast north of Sugrusu Hakei this evening, by midnight at the latest. Expect winds of up to 101 eisqilm per hour, along with heavy rainfall, flooding, and storm surges.

[ACCESS DENIED], but it is likely the storm will travel inland, the direction yet to be determined, driven by the need for [ACCESS DENIED].

Groaning with the pressure, like a rusty gear finally giving way, the entire weather system shifted—from Albei to Sugrusu Hakei to the ocean farther to the east. I wasn’t even one with the sky at that moment, but I felt the change with my whole body, my spine seeming to flex on its own. I had to go with the movement or else I would snap in two.

“Eight?” I heard, a couple of voices from my team asking if I was okay.

Ikfael hopped from my pack as I hit the ground, as I was forced to roll in the mud at the demand of the metallic fibers running through my spine. Adrenaline dumped into my bloodstream, but I didn’t panic. Even though I’d seemed to have lost control of myself, I could still think. My mind registered that the experience felt like a reflex—the body doing what it needed to protect itself.

Once I realized I wasn’t in danger of hurting myself, I thought to Yuki, Tell the others the storm’s moving. It’s escalated too. Warn the kids. Ask Mumu to signal Albei. Landfall by midnight at the latest, and it will travel inland. Almost guaranteed to hit or have some effect here. No way the hierophant’s divination is coincidental.

While Yuki did as I asked of them, I tried to relax and ride the wave carrying me along. My team did their best to make me comfortable, mostly by keeping my face out of the mud. How ignominious an end would that have been? Drowned by a face full of mud.

All for the sake of something I had no clue about. The being incubated by the storm must be damned important to be worthy of that kind of effort—and secrecy too. What exactly did the “access denied” hide? Something not meant for mortal understanding? A god’s pet project?

The seizure lasted for about ten minutes, but it sure as hell felt much longer. And as suddenly as it had started, it ended. My body relaxed, and I felt like I’d spent an hour fighting a kalihchi bear.

“Has this happened before?” Anya asked, her voice worried.

Ikfael pushed her aside to chitter in my face. Then, when I looked at her in confusion, she signed, “What have you done now, our foolish Eight?”

“Nothing, I promise you,” I sputtered. Then my voice cracked in helpless laughter. My relief was immense, and the adrenaline needed an outlet. “Normally I call the storm, but this time it called me.”

“This isn’t funny.” Mumu had been kneeling beside me, holding my head. “Are you injured?”

My laughter ran down, and I focused on my body, feeling out my limbs and gently arching my back. Ooh, that’s definitely going to be sore tomorrow.

‘No damage that we can sense,’ Yuki said.

Luckily no. And then I repeated myself aloud for the benefit of our clients. “Just a bit parched, I think.”

Ikfael gestured, and the water at my side forced its way out of the skin to hover in front of my mouth. No doubt I was about to make myself look ridiculous, but I’d been rolling in the mud, so pride wasn’t exactly a concern.

I gulped the water down, sucking it as if from a hose. “Thank you,” I said afterward. “That’s better.”

Tegen stepped into view to get my attention. “The storm is moving?”

Well, he already knew the answer to that question, but our clients needed to be brought up to speed. So, this time, with more presence of mind, I spoke aloud of what I’d learned.

The others took the information in, then they each looked around to see how it was received. The decision was made wordlessly and unanimously, carried on the wisps of spirit stuff traveling between us.

Mumu gave it voice, “There’ll be no camp tonight—we push on straight to Fort Olana.”